


Be Careful What You Wish For

by MortyVongola



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1940s, AU, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Ben Solo Cheating, Cheating, Cocaine, Dogs, Emotional Manipulation, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Hux is a Voodoo King, I know this isn't what its really like, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Incorrect Voodoo practices, Manipulation, Propositions, Reader-Insert, Revenge, Smoking, Voodoo, but this is a story, reader is a nurse, sex as payment, this is a gift, voodoo au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 08:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16678000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortyVongola/pseuds/MortyVongola
Summary: You are happily married, or at least you thought you were happily married. Yet, when you come home from work early, what do you see? Your husband banging your now former best friend into the mattress. Now what do you do? When a man claiming to often solve problems like yours comes along and offers you vengeance, will you take it?





	Be Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElmiDol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElmiDol/gifts).



> I suck at summaries, sorry.
> 
> ANYWAY ElmiDol and I were messaging awhile ago and I can't remember who brought it up but she said she wanted to see Voodoo Hux, so here he is! The story was rather large for one part, so i split it into two. It is also almost finished, so yay! (secretly this was supposed to be out by Halloween but I've been having some personal issues lately so it was delayed) 
> 
> (Also I wrote this to the song I Told You Once by Circus Contraption, in case you wanted to give it a listen)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy

You shouldn’t have come home early. You’re _never_ supposed to come home early, at least not according to all the romance books you used to read. But you did come home early, and where did that land you? Leaning against the hallway wall with your knees pressed up to your chest, crying your eyes out as quietly as you possibly could while listening to the sounds of your husband of 5 years and your ~~best friend~~ former friend have sex on your marriage bed. It was downright disgusting the noises they were making. Like animals who’ve never had the pleasure of a proper romp. Was that what it was really supposed to be like? Ben had always been so tender with you, so soft and vanilla. He treated you as if you were precious, but with Tori apparently it was an entirely different ball game.

 

The sounds only got worse and you could no longer handle the heartache, so you stood and furiously wiped at your tears. You set a hard glare and began to walk out as quietly as you could, not wanting to reveal yourself to them. How were you going to handle this? How does one go about confronting a cheating spouse? Who could you even ask about it? Could you even divorce him? The law stated that you had to prove adultery, which would be rather difficult, and Ben wasn’t a drunk nor did he ever lay an ill hand on you. _Am I just supposed to live with this?_ You thought as a new wave of tears started to build up behind your eyes.

 

When you got down the stairs you could still hear them, could still hear her excited squeals and moans, could hear his deep chuckles and demands for her to call out for him. Anger began to swell in your gut and you placed a hand over your stomach while balling the other into a trembling fist. Ben was supposed to be _your husband_ and Tori was supposed to be _your best friend_ , how could they do this to you? Did they even think about how you would feel if you found out? Were you even a second or third thought? You willed your clenched fist to move and you hit one of the framed photos you had decorated the wall with. It was the one of your wedding day, you were smiling and happy and you’d thought Ben was too. The glass shattered on the ground but you still were not satisfied. You stomped on the photo, the glass crunching beneath your work heels.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I didn’t hear a thing,” Tori drawled. “Come on, put it back innnn-mmmm yes!"

 

You wanted to vomit, you wanted to scream and run and to cry. The last straw had been broken and you fixed the hat back onto your head before grabbing your keys and _finally_ leaving. On the walk back to the bus stop all you could think about was _him_ and _her_ and the sounds they were making. When did it start? Had it always been this way? Was your entire marriage a _sham_? The bus arrived and you just continued to stare down at your feet, your purse clutched tightly in your hands. Tears were dripping off your face again and it seemed as though the bus driver had no time to wait for a crying woman. The bus left and you felt even more alone than you did before.

“I hate them,” you whispered under your breath. “How could they do this to me?” Your voice was cracking, your knees were shaking and your hands were trembling again. “I trusted them and they just-“ you sucked in a sharp breath, trying your best to contain your heartbreak. A public meltdown would not do. Any damage to your reputation would be _really_ bad in the long run, especially if you did decide to gather some evidence and file for divorce.

 

“Tears don’t suit you, dove.” You lifted your head and looked toward the bench that was beside the bus stop. A well-dressed man sat on it, his fiery ginger hair gelled back and an unlit cigarette in his hand. He pulled a matchbox out of his inner breast pocket and lit one before pressing the cigarette to his lips and setting it ablaze. He looked at you from the corner of his deep blue eyes and gave a sultry smirk. His pale fingers pulled the cigarette from his lips after he inhaled and he blew the smoke in the direction of the street before patting the spot next to him and offering you a cigarette.

 

You looked between him and the cigarette carton. A cigarette from a stranger could be dangerous, but what did you care? The love of your life was fucking your best friend in your bed, a funked cigarette would only make your day better as far as you were concerned. You walked toward the man and gently took one of the white sticks from the carton. He replaced the box in his pocket and again gestured toward the seat beside him. With only a bit more hesitation you sat down and twirled the cigarette between your fingers. After a few more seconds of fighting back tears you placed the stick to your lips and just held it there unlit.

 

“Allow me,” the man said and replaced his own slightly shortened stick to his mouth. He leaned toward you and gently put the lit end of his smoke to the end that was sticking from your lips. If you were in any other mood you would have blushed and pushed him away saying, ‘I’m a married woman’ but now you had no desire to stop him. “What’s troubling you?”

 

“Have you ever heard of a man named Ben Solo?”

 

“Ben Solo?” The ginger haired man leaned back in his seat, arm stretched behind the bench as if it were his. “Isn’t he that war hero’s son? Han Solo, from the Great War, right?” You nodded dumbly and blew the smoke from your lungs. Even the added pleasure of the cigarette couldn’t lesson the sting of his name or the number of tears you had to choke down.

 

“Yes,” your voice quivered a bit. “That’s the one.”

 

“I hear he’s with that one factory worker,” the man tapped his cigarette on the arm rest of the bench and you watched the ashes drop to the ground. That factory worker wasn’t you, no you’d never worked at a factory in your life. The factory worker was Tori. Your blood boiled in rage, did everyone know about them? Were you the _only_ one not in the know about _who your own husband was fucking_!?

 

“Yes,” you ground out and clenched your jaw, trying your best not to grind your teeth. “That’s the one.” Tears crawled down your face again but out of anguish and frustration. “H-How long, have they _been together_ , do you know?”

 

“I don’t make it a habit of peering into his life, that man’s entire family repulses me.”

 

“But do you know?”

 

“If I recall correctly, there have been rumors about the two of them for at least three years now. Shame about his wife, though. Poor thing is still so devoted to him.”

 

“I’m that poor thing!” Your face was red in embarrassment and rage. The cigarette had fallen from your lips and you moved yourself to grab the man by his embroidered lapels. “He’s been sleeping with her behind my back for _three years_ and no one has had the _decency_ to tell me!”

 

The stranger looked un-phased, except for the slight crinkle of his nose at the new wrinkles in his suit. He continued to hold the cigarette between his lips and that sultry smirk crawled back onto his face as he reached his hands up to wrap them around your smaller wrists. “You’re too pretty to have to deal with a cheat like that, the scoundrel.”

 

“H-He is…and she w-was my…I can’t stand them!” You’d begun to sob and shake your head. The ginger haired man gently peeled your hands from his jacket and placed them softly on his chest. He put his hand behind your head and pat your back softly as he brought you to his shoulder to cry. That smirk never left his face.

 

“There, there, darling,” he cooed at you. “You work so hard for him and this is how he repays you?”

 

All you could do was sob louder, the pain in your chest too much to bear any longer. Your throat was starting to hurt from your stifled wales and you grabbed weak fistfuls of his shirt once more. The fact that you didn’t even know the man’s name stayed in the very recesses of your mind as your broken heart finally started to get the better of you. You were on your knees on the bench, no doubt putting runs in your stockings, each of your legs were on either side of one of his. The stranger’s hand pat your head gently while the other rubbed your back up and down, he was very cautious of where his hands were. “I bet you’re angry at the both of them. Furious even.”

 

“Y-Yes,” you sniffled pathetically. “H-How could he- how could they do this to me.”

 

“Do you want to get revenge?” The way his voice sounded when he said that had you lifting your tear and makeup stained face to look at him. His smirk had only widened, and there was an evil sparkle to his eyes. “Don’t you want to hurt them? Hurt them _worse_ than they did you?”

 

“H-How am I supposed to do that?”

 

“I can help you,” he took the cigarette away from his lips and blew the smoke in front of his face. The puff of gray air morphed into the face of a demented creature before disappearing. “I am a Voodoo King. Many people from all over Louisiana come to me, people like you.”

 

“Like me?” You pulled away from him, the weird smoke trick unnerved you. With your legs still on either side of his knee you sat back on your haunches, trying your best to sit further from him. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, not allowing you to move any further back.

 

“Yes, like you. I specialize in curses, and the occasional gris-gris. Woman who are similar, with ungrateful scoundrels for husbands, come to me begging me to curse their husbands, sometimes even to death. Of course, with the right payment, I will do anything.”

 

“D-Death?! I d-don’t- I didn’t say that I-“ He silenced you by pulling you flush against him. The Voodoo King’s stature towered over you, only a bit smaller than your asshole husband’s frame, and he pressed a small card into the back of your hair bun and a kiss to your quivering lips. The ginger haired man let go of you smoothly and stood from the bench. He flicked his now stubbly cigarette into the street and began to pull out another.

 

“Use that card to contact me once you’ve made your decision,” he said and lit up a new match. “In exchange for the curse, because I _know_ you’ll want a strong one, you will have to pay me with yourself.”

 

“Myself?” You sat there, a little dumbfounded but also extremely insecure. The way this man had treated you was mortifying and you were more than a little relieved that no one had been around to see it.

 

“Yes, I want you,” he gave you that same sultry smirk and it sent a shiver down your spine. The man turned his back to you and walked away, a new cigarette hanging from his mouth and a dark tune coming from behind his ~~soft~~ devious lips.

 

~

A low moan escaped you as you threw your head back, the cold brown liquid slipping past your lips and burning down your throat. You hiccupped, tears slipping down your cheeks, and heart clenching painfully in your chest, you wondered when the alcohol would _actually_ start helping. “Did you guys know,” you hiccupped again, head now tilted down with a fresh cigarette perched between your index and forefinger on the hand that didn’t hold your empty drink. “about them? Did you know?”

 

“I,” your friend Finn rubbed the back of his neck, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Well, I didn’t _know_ per say, but I definitely knew how she felt about him.”

 

You sniffled loudly and took a drag of your cigarette before facing your other friend in-front of you. The man filled your previously empty glass, also not looking you in the eyes. He glanced at you warily and a sigh escaped him as he watched your bottom lip begin to tremble. Poe put your drink down and placed his hand on top of your hand comfortingly as he whispered your name softly. “Yeah, I did. They used to come here a lot, in the beginning.” His tone was so gentle, almost as if he was afraid you would break if he spoke at any other level. “I’m so sorry.”

 

A sob wrecked your form and you took another large gulp of scotch, trying to contain your anguish. The female beside you placed a gentle hand to your back, rubbing it up and down in a soothing manner. Her comforting hand caused a second, barely contained, sob to pry its way through your chest. “Rey,” you cried, not even bothering to look at her. “Did you know?”

 

Said woman visibly cringed at the pained crack in your voice. You could see her look to Poe for help from the corner of your eye as she struggled to answer you in the least harmful way, but the damage had already been done. You slammed your head against the bar counter, cigarette forgotten and drink shaking at the force of your crash. You felt hopeless, useless, unwanted, betrayed. It would be easier to name all of the emotions you _weren’t_ feeling. All of your friends said your name in tandem and you heaved as you let your sobs flow uncontrollably. “We were- he was- I wanted,” your entire body shook as you thought about what had been on your mind for a little under 4 months, only when you thought about it _now_ it made you want to vomit. “Our vows, h-he had promised-d we’d renew o-our vows.”

 

“Oh, love. I’m so sorry,” Rey’s honeyed voice tried to console you. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now.”

 

“Neither can I,” you blubbered, snot dripping down your face along with your large tears. How could he do this to you? For three years, he’d been with her and when you told him you wanted to have a renewal ceremony he’d been completely onboard! How could he _do_ that? He was one sick bastard if he thought he could still claim to care about you. That thought sparked a new wave of anger and sadness to flow through you. He didn’t care about you. You _loved_ him. You had always loved him, and here he was, sleeping with your ~~arch enemy~~ best friend for more than three years. You’d only been married to him for five years! More than half of your marriage he’d spent giving it to some other woman!

 

“I need to go finish setting up for opening,” Finn told you softly. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” He stood from the bar and picked up his instrument case. He pat your back gently before walking further into the building and towards the stage to join the rest of the band. You could only muster up a sniffle in response to his kindness. This was the worst, this heartbreak. How do people recover from this? Is this how your mother felt when your father left her? Maybe you should go visit her. You chugged down the rest of your drink and scrunched your face at the burn in your throat.

 

Rey called your name and put her hand over top of your empty glass, “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.” You glared at her and poked her chest. Her costume’s sequins felt rough on your skin, but you continued to poke at her. “I don’t w-want to hear any instructions f-from-“ you hiccupped and you slid off your seat and into her arms. Rey sighed and stroked you back as you began to sob again, forgetting to finish your sentence. This was the worst. The jazz club your friends worked at hadn’t even opened yet and you were already drunk. You heard Poe sigh loudly and set his cup down. He muttered your name comfortingly and placed a hand on your back as you continued to sob on Rey. “Why don’t you go rest in the back? The club is about to open, after all. I’m sure the boss won’t mind, and I’ll take you home in the morning.”

 

“What home?” You sounded pathetic, your face was starting to itch from Rey’s costume.

 

“Then we’ll take you to our place in the morning,” Rey whispered with a soft sigh. “Just let me take you to the back.” You nodded silently, now feeling too lazy to respond. You were dizzy and your chest was tight. The burning in your throat came from a combination of your sobs and the hard liquor you’d been trying to drown your sorrows in. You felt Rey shift you against her chest, as well as Poe’s stronger hands. He lifted you from Rey and you slumped into his hold, letting him carry you to the back like a ragdoll. You had no strength, no will to move on, and as he placed you on the sofa in his manager’s office. Tears started to slip past your eyes again, despite how numb you felt, and even with a blanket over you and the lights of the office turned off you still couldn’t muster the will to try and sleep the alcohol away.

 

Were you sober now? Or was this the effects of a depressant mixed with your already horrendous mood. What were you going to do? You stared up at the red painted ceiling and the golden decorations around it. Ben’s mother owned this club, she was very revolutionary as not many women owned any business, let alone a jazz club. What would she do if she found out? She was off tonight, but you wondered if any of your friends would tell her when she next came in. Maybe she already knew and was just letting her son make his own horrible decisions. Your frown deepened. “I would’ve preferred a warning,” you muttered to yourself and turned over to face the back of the sofa.

 

You closed your eyes, squeezing them tightly. Your chest hurt so much, it felt like there was rock lodged in your throat and there was that telltale tingling feeling in your nose. Weren’t you done crying? How many more tears did you have? “Uhg,” you grunted and turned over once again. “What do I do?”

 

Jazz music started to filter through the walls and you covered your eyes with your arms. Again, you were left to think about what you would do. For obvious reasons, you didn’t want to go home, but if you went to your mother’s that would be admitting something was wrong. What was there left for you to do? People would start talking if you stayed with Poe or Finn and the same issue came with staying with Rey as people would know something was wrong. You were so angry and so hurt, it felt like time had stopped moving. The music changed to something more intense, more like a swing, and it made you think of the man you had met earlier in the day. _“You work so hard for him and this is how he repays you?”_

You clenched your hands into fists, tears of anger spilling instead of tears of sorrow. He was right, you did work hard for him. Without your salary, the two of you would never have been able to afford the house _he_ wanted. His salary was only double yours after all, and he refused to accept money from his parents. In fact, now that you were thinking about it, he was the reason you had to work as many as hours as you did! You worked more hours than he did, the bastard, and when you came home you had to cook and clean. It was a large house, you didn’t even think you needed that big of a home. Asshole. How many times did he claim to be working late at night, but was actually spending the night with _her_? How _fucking dare_ he? He’d made you feel so loved, so wanted, when you were dating. And while you were married he never once made you feel like he didn’t care for you, like he didn’t love you, so why then? What was the point of it all? If he never loved you, if he’d fallen for someone else, then why keep you around?

_“Do you want to get revenge? Don’t you want to hurt them? Hurt them_ worse _than they did you?”_

You pulled the card that Voodoo King had given you out of your purse. It was a pure white card with two words written on it in golden cursive. “Papa Legba?” You read the words allowed and tilted your head to the side curiously. Was that his name? A chill went down your spine as you thought of those words again. No, you had a feeling that it was _definitely_ not his name. You put the card back into your purse and sat up on the couch. Feeling too sober, you stood and wobbled over to your mother-in-law’s desk and opened the bottom drawer. You ran your eyes along the bottles of alcohol in the drawer before grabbing one and closing the drawer and placing the bottle on the top of the desk. “Hm, no candy?”

 

“Ah!” You threw your hands up in the air, terror shooting through you at the unfamiliar voice. Slowly, you brought your eyes up to look toward the couch you had been laying on. A tall man sat on the couch, his hand in your purse and an arrogant smile on his face. He had a top hat on, with brown chicken feathers pinned to the silk belt, a lit cigar hung from his lips and he tilted his white painted face to the side as he looked at He had a top hat on, with brown chicken feathers pinned to the silk belt, a lit cigar hung from his lips and he tilted his white painted face to the side as he looked at you. He spoke with a thick accent that you couldn’t quite place. “W-What do you-“

 

“You’re the one ‘ho called me, and yet you do not ‘ave a gift for me?”

 

“I-I called you?” That same chill crawled down your spine and you thought about the name on that business card. “C-Could you be Papa Legba?”

 

“At your service,” he responded with a small bow and flourish of his wrist. “Although, I may not be now ‘hat I know you do not have a ‘hing for me.”

 

“W-What do you mean? You, what?”

 

The man paused and let out a small hum before he stood from the sofa. His full height was intimidating. He was taller than your cheating husband and the self-proclaimed Voodoo King from earlier. Papa Legba was towering over you and his hat almost reached the ceiling. “He did not explain ‘hings to you,” he started. He put you purse back down and grabbed a cane that had been leaning against the edge of the couch. The ornament of the cane was in the shape of a rooster, and your attention was drawn to his long nails as he tapped them against the metal underneath them. “I am the spirit bridge. To ‘sk for the help of other spirits, one must talk wit’ me first. ‘hat Voodo King you spoke with, ‘ux has spoken with me many ‘imes.”

 

“Hux? Was that his name?”

 

The tall man hummed in the affirmative and you took a step back as he began to approach the back of the desk. He rounded it and you clumsily fell back into Mrs. Solo’s plush office chair. Papa Legba did not approach you further, he stopped at the drawers and began to open them from the bottom up. You watched him uneasily from your uncomfortable sitting position. A spirit that talks to other spirits? What would you need him for? You’d thought that the other guy, Hux, was the Voodoo master and that he would do the avenging, not this freakishly tall and oddly painted spirit thing. “Um, Mr. Legba?”

 

“Papa Legba is fine,” he muttered distractedly. He was riffling through the top drawer now.

 

“W-Why are you here?” You watched him very closely, he’d seemed to have found what he was looking for and you watched him stand back up straight. Papa Legba chuckled darkly as he held up a small clear bag filled with a white powder, and he shook it with an eerie joy.

 

“I found it,” he chuckled then, and he opened the bag. With mild horror you realized what it was he had in that bag. How did your mother-in-law have that? Where in the world did she get it from, and why would she ever do something like it! Papa Legba stuck his pinky finger in the bag and scooped up the powder. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply through his nose. To assure he’d snorted all the powder properly, he tapped the nostril he’d just filled and continued to sniffle a bit. “This,” he started and gestured to the small baggie. He tied it closed, his cane now leaning against the desk, and put it in the breast pocket of his tattered suit jacket. “It will do for now, so come. ‘ime to go.”

 

“Go?” You flinched as he too your hand, it was cold and somehow it didn’t feel real. “Go where?”

 

He chuckled again, his strength easily making you stand from the chair. Still holding your hand, he used the other to grab his cane up once more and continued to walk out of the office with you following behind. His pace was even and he hummed to the jazz that continued in the background. You could hear the sounds of Finn’s baritone saxophone, and despite your initial hesitance something about his otherworldly vibe felt calming. The pain in your chest had lessened significantly since his arrival. _This isn’t a bad idea, right? It’s not just the remnants of the alcohol letting me do this, I’m sure._   “You’re not taking me to the underworld or something, right?”

 

“Non,” Papa Legba replied, he opened the back door of the club and walked out into the foggy night and you followed behind without him holding onto your hand. You heard the door to the club, your safe haven, slam shut behind you and you knew you could no longer go back. “I am taking you to ‘ux.”

 

“If you speak with other spirits, why are you here? Guiding me?”

 

“Because, you people are entertaining.” The smirk on his face wasn’t disturbing, but it didn’t make you feel any more comfortable either. Despite the sinking feeling that began to fill your stomach, you continued to follow Papa Legba, your spirit guide for the night, further into the dark of the Louisiana.

 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking, but your feet ached. With how upset you had been, you’d forgotten to ask Rey if you could borrow a change of clothes or shoes at the very least. The hospital uniforms weren’t very comfortable, and with how many runs you had in your stockings as well as the obvious tear stains in your makeup, if your boss say you there was no doubt in your mind that you would be fired. The highest compliment that could be paid to you now would be something along the lines of _“Wow, you look rather indecent! Could I offer you some coffee and perhaps a new set of stockings?”_ That sounded nice, your imaginary hero sounded lovely. Maybe you could cheat on Ben with him. Another nice thought that still came with a stab of pain to your heart. With a glance down at your left hand, you immediately stopped walking. The modest diamond sparkled back up you, it’s once perfect meaning now feeling tainted on your finger. It felt constricting, like the poison was seeping from the golden bands and creeping along your flesh. Goosebumps crawled along the skin of your arms and down your back. You shivered and felt the sudden urge to scream and toss the offending jewelry into the bayou. Wait, the bayou? When did you get this close to the water?

 

A dog barked at you and it snapped you out of your panic. You looked toward where Papa Legba had been, only to see that he was gone. A one-eyed dog with a stubby tail, probably the one that had barked at you, sat there instead. It was a mutt, a mixture of browns, blacks, and tans. It watched you closely and once it knew it had your attention it stood up onto all four of its legs and barked again before running a little further down the road. That crawling feeling crept under your skin again, but this time it came with the added feeling of being watched. Where had your guide gone? You heard another bark further down the road and immediately began to run toward it. At the very least, you knew the dog wasn’t out to get you. Now that you were paying attention to your surroundings, you realized you were very deep into the woods, literally right next to the bayou. Maybe Papa Legba had been taking you to the underworld after all.

 

The dog was gone, and now you were just running straight ahead, hoping to find something. Clinking noises began to catch your attention as the wind blew. You looked up and saw that the trees were covered in glass bottles. Blue, green, and clear bottles were tied up in every tree leading up to a shack. They clinked and jingled and furthered your discomfort. You were sure they looked beautiful in the daylight, but at night they felt like an eerie message. A light in the window of the shack caught your attention and you hurried up the steps as fast as your pained feet would allow. Quickly, you knocked repeatedly, in a hurry to find some sort of comfort. You felt like you were going mad in the darkness, all alone. Completely alone. The thought hit you like a ton of bricks. What if no one was on this shack? What if you remained lost forever? Would Ben even care? He’d probably be happy you were finally gone. It felt like shards of glass had embedded themselves in your heart, and the more you thought the more they twisted and rubbed against one another in your flesh. You stopped knocking, your hand sliding down against the door as you fell to your knees. There was a crushing weight on your shoulders and suddenly you no longer cared what happened to you. You were alone, weren’t you? He’d been beside you most of your life, been your best friend for many years, your husband for shorter. You had been so deeply in love with him, all for what? All for him to fuck some whore behind your back for most of your marriage.

 

You really were alone.

 

The door to the shack opened and immediately a long, pink, and saliva covered tongue licked at your wet cheeks. You shivered and put your hands up to cover your face to keep the dog from continuing to lick at your sorrow. “Benjamin,” came the voice of someone familiar. “Down boy, you’re going to frighten her even more.”

 

You looked up and your blurry vision was still able to catch and recognize the fiery ginger hair. It was him! Not only was it another person but his voice kept echoing in your mind telling you what he’d told you earlier on in the afternoon. _“I want you.”_

 

“Oh my, what has the dog brought in?” There was a confident lilt to his voice, and he spoke your name like it was made of silk as leaned down to take your hand in his. His hand was warm and rough. You ran your thumb along it absentmindedly and felt him squeeze your hand back with a low and dark chuckle. “My darling dove seems to have flown a long way. Come in, you look like you’re in need of a drink.”

 

Not quite the hero line you were looking for, but you’d take it.

 

He brought you into the shack, though on the inside it seemed more like a creepy store. Once the both of you, and his dog, were inside he’d shut the door and the sound of the lock clicking into place went unnoticed by you. Hux grabbed a coat, the same one he’d been wearing at the bus stop where you met, and he set it over your shoulders gently. “Your cute uniform is in shambles. And despite the excitement it brings me, I’d rather you reveal yourself of your own accord.”

 

You looked down at your dress and blushed. How embarrassing! Had you been running around with a tear in your front this entire time? No, it hadn’t been there when you started walking with Papa Legba, so it must’ve happened during your freak out. The silken material of your blue bra was exposed, and you wrapped the jacket around yourself tighter to cover the material. At least you had a spare uniform. Hux walked in front of you, his dog trotting behind him. You looked around at all the vials, masks, bags and straw set up around you. Were they for sale? Why have a shop all the way out here? You walked toward one of the shelves, a particular vial of dried flowers catching your attention. It was a cluster of yellow flowers, probably dried to help preserve them, you picked up the vial and examined it. They were so pretty. A low chuckle resounded from behind you and you straightened your posture. He reached around you, grabbing the vial from your hands. “What a telling pick,” he whispered in your ear, a tempting sound that made your mouth feel dry. “The birdsfoot trefoil is used for very powerful magic.”

 

You nodded dumbly, and he gently replaced the vial back on the shelf, his other arm wrapping itself around your shoulders. He pressed his mouth against your ear and pulled you to his chest. A small squeak escaped your lips and that same tempting chuckle tumbled from his chest. The puffs of breath against your ear had goosebumps rising along your skin, his other arm reached down to wrap around your waist. “The birdsfoot is used for revenge,” he whispered, and you felt his tongue run along the ear he had just whispered in. A noise of both pleasure and discomfort left your mouth and a dark flush crawled along your cheeks and chest.

 

“I-I didn’t mean to,” you squeaked out. “U-Um could you please-?”

 

“Of course, dove.” The ginger released his hold on you and took a step back. “Follow me, I’ll make you some coffee.”

 

“Okay,” you muttered and followed after him slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> All the juicy stuff is in the second half haha


End file.
